"Nope," grinned Ezry, "he air to be took away."
Tessibel shrank back further and further, every muscle tired in its agony of burden-bearing. The rotten post squeaked loudly, bending beneath her weight, and over her in lightning rapidity swept the shadow of the rope, snatching her father from her—and God. The student had not limited the power of the cross; but Tess had discovered its limitations in Ezra Longman's statement—limitations that made her quiver with pain, as she pictured the evil thing which darkly menaced her loved one.
"He air a damn liar," burst forth Jake Brewer, "the jedge ain't said no words what Ezy says he has."
Tessibel heard and understood. The splendid, buoyant youth gathered instantly together, faith in the eternal promise of God sweeping over her once more. She might have known that Daddy was safe. Every long day had been filled with petitions, hurled at the feet of the Almighty: Tess, in her ignorance, had juggled with the sacred name of Jehovah, expecting the fulfillment of her prayers just as a boy, filled with ecstatic faith, expects his ball to come back to him after he has tossed it into the air. So would Daddy Skinner come to her, snatched from the shadow of an ignominious death, through some miracle of God's goodness.
"It air over to-morry?" she stammered, holding no grudge against Ezra Longman for his untimely joke.
"Yep."
"Then he air comin' home to-morry night?" she said almost in a whisper.
Ben Letts, looking at Ezra, closed one red lid, letting it fall slowly over the blurred blind eye. Neither he nor the boy spoke.
Letts brought his squint gaze back to Tess.